


Cartography of Fire

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-30
Updated: 2006-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Remus shows up at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Christmas Eve, and his and George's lives change- definitely for the better. Written May-June 2004, AU.





	Cartography of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

The opening quotation comes from the poem "Brother Fire" by Louis MacNeice.

My eternal gratitude to romanticalgirl for her extraordinary beta of this story.  


* * *

  
_O delicate walker, babbler, dialectician Fire,  
O enemy and image of ourselves_

  
"Well." George shut the drawer to the till and looked dazedly around the empty shop. "I suppose that's it for this holiday. Thanks again, Zap, for all your help. Couldn't have survived the Christmas rush without you."  
  
Zapateous Zonko, youngest son of the former joke-shop owner, smiled in return. "No worries, Mr. Weasley," he replied, tossing a stray Canary Creme into a plastic bin. "It brings back memories, y'know?"  
  
"I do," George said, crossing his arms and leaning on the counter. "But for the love of Merlin, don't ever call me Mr. Weasley again. That's Dad. Arthur. Min-is-try." He intoned every syllable, making his sole employee grin.  
  
"Right. Sorry," Zap said, aiming his wand at a stand in the corner, bringing his hat to him, which he then nestled on his head. "George. Happy Christmas."  
  
"Happy Christmas to you!" The redhead had retrieved a few stray ton-tongue toffees and began juggling the lot. "Be sure to go by Gringott's before you go home; there's a bit something extra for you. It being the holidays and all."  
  
Zap smiled all the wider, showing a few crooked teeth. "You're the best, George! All happy returns to your family from me, okay?"  
  
George let the four toffees drop to their nadir in his palm. "Of course," he replied. "Now go on. It's getting late."  
  
The door opened, letting in a blast of cold air, then banged shut. George took a few moments to look around, evaluating the chaos. Shelves of skiving snackboxes and truth-telling taffies in complete disarray; some charmed miniature carpets circling the enchanted mirrors; and a half-imbibed cup of tea with legs making its way across the floor back to the kitchen. He sighed, thinking of what awaited him after he closed up shop.  
  
Mum. Dad. Ginny with Neville, the Wonder Boy. Ron and Hermione. Percy. Charlie, if they were lucky. And the usual post-War eulogies for Bill and Fred. He fumbled at a cabinet where he had a "For Emergencies Only" bottle of Bitter Banshee, got it open, then began looking for an appropriate container for the somewhat ominously green beverage.  
  
The bell hanging above the door chimed just as George had gotten comfortable in the one chair in the shop.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell," he swore under his breath. Before shouting out, "We're closed!" he spared a few seconds to tilt his head and see who it was shopping this late on Christmas Eve. He blinked a few times, took another swig of his beverage and looked once again for good measure before disengaging himself from his chair.  
  
"Professor Lupin!" he said, rounding the counter to shake hands with his former instructor. "What brings you here? Now?"  
  
"Shopping," Remus Lupin replied, looking apologetic. "I know it's late, but I need something for my first cousin, once removed. Around ten, I believe."  
  
"No," George replied. "It's only seven-thirty."  
  
"No," Lupin answered, smiling. "Ten. That's her age. Ten."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Are you closed?" Lupin appeared as though he were going to leave. "The sign said…"  
  
"We're open. I mean, I'm still open. No worries."  
  
Lupin nodded, and George was struck by how little the man had changed from his year of teaching at Hogwarts. Disheveled, a bit nervous for someone who knew so much about the Dark Arts, and gracious to a fault. He smiled back.  
  
"I'll help you find something."  
  
They spent a good thirty minutes going through the store, looking at rainbow gobstoppers that caused the eater's skin to change colour with the candy; conniving knuts with repelling charms on them, making them impossible to be picked up by anyone but their owner; silencing suckers that rendered the recipient speechless. At least for a little while.  
  
"I'm sorry about Fred," Lupin said, during a pause.  
  
George shrugged in acquiescence. "Makes two of us," he acknowledged. "But you know about loss."  
  
Lupin gazed keenly at him, as though he expected him to continue.  
  
"Okay. So it's as though I'm an amputee. Or missing a tooth that'll never grow in, and all I can do is rub the spot, which only reminds me that it's not there." George strode across the small shop to his abandoned cup of spirits, which he downed. "Thank you for your sentiments. I do appreciate them, really. But Fred wouldn't have wanted anyone to be mopey about him."  
  
Professor Lupin glanced around the store again and settled on a fake diary in lavender which squirted ink on anyone who tried to open it. "I think she'll like this," he said, retrieving one and bringing it to the counter. "Her older brother has been giving her grief, apparently." He fumbled in a pocket for the correct payment. "I'm sorry to have kept you. I'm sure Molly is wondering where you are," he added.  
  
"I'll go by my flat first," George admitted, taking the other man's coins and dropping them into the drawer. "What about you?" he asked suddenly, remembering a few Christmases back spent at 12 Grimmauld Place. He and Fred had pieced together the true nature of his relationship with Sirius Black during their seventh year, which had been astonishing to them at the time.  
  
"Oh, I'll be at my house. Probably visit Harry, then walk around some of the monoliths at Kilmartin."  
  
George looked at him, puzzled. "Kilmartin?"  
  
"In Argyll. Near Oban. After… well, you know. After James and Lily were killed, I spent a few years working in a library in muggle Glasgow. I heard about these ancient stones, laid out across several kilometers." His expression took on a wistful glow, and George was surprised at the change it made. Though Remus was, no doubt, in his early forties, he had a pleasant face. Handsome, even. And a very soothing voice. George shook himself out of the odd line of thought to listen to what Lupin was saying with such feeling.  
  
"The Muggles have their own beliefs about the Neolithic cultures that made them, and how, but I have my own theories. The old standing stones are soothing, somehow. They're surrounded by farms and grazing sheep. It's always very peaceful." Lupin looked down at his present and ran his thumbs over the wrapping, chuckling low in his throat. "I must be boring you. I'm sure that you wish you had closed up at least an hour ago."  
  
"No, it's alright." George shocked himself as he said, "Would you like some company when you go to the…" He struggled for the word Lupin had used. "Monoliths? A bloke needs a break from the family, as you probably remember."  
  
Lupin focused his gaze on him and raised his eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"And it's not the same without Fred around. And Bill. Mum gets all weepy, and I never was any good at making her feel better." He walked around the counter to face Lupin. "You should come over. Everyone'd love to see you."  
  
Lupin smiled broadly. "That would be marvellous! Thank you so much for the invitation. And I'd be more than pleased to share the Kilmartin stones with you." George watched as Lupin's gaze travelled down his body to his feet. "Though I wouldn't advise wearing such extraordinary footwear. It can be a bit muddy."  
  
George looked down and grinned. "Oh. 'Course, I'm pretty skilled at most cleaning spells, but you're right. I'd hate to ruin these." He had on his favorite shoes, a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots in luminous grey. They were an extravagant memento for himself, purchased when he'd travelled to the States with Ron and the fledgling Quidditch team he was assistant coaching, the Green Knights of Glasgow.  
  
He brought his gaze up to Lupin's gold-brown eyes curiously. Had the man actually been sizing him up? Surely not. He stuck out his hand to shake Lupin's. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then, at the Burrow."  
  
A surprisingly firm and warm grip held his for a moment. "You have really become quite a success," Lupin said, taking an admiring look around the shop. "Maybe you'll be kind enough to tell me the inspiration for all of this!"  
  
George began to feel embarrassed. "It's just a joke shop." He extracted his hand and turned to go back behind the counter. "It's not like the Daily Prophet is going to do a story on me because I'm the co-creator of the Puking Pastille." He took his wand from the side of the till, pointed it at the bottom drawer and uttered a complex locking spell.  
  
"Perhaps they should," Lupin said, picking up the present. "Laughter is an extraordinarily powerful tool in wizardry. Disgracefully misunderstood."  
  
George leaned back against the wall, scratching under his chin with his wand. "Never thought about that," he said. "Then again, Fred and I were not exactly Hogwarts' most model students."  
  
"Well," Lupin said, tucking the package under his arm, a mischievous glint in his eye, "Neither was I. See you tomorrow."  
  
The bell clanged again as the door opened, then slammed closed. George shook his head slowly as he raised his wand toward the door, flipped the "Open" sign to "You Must Be Joking," and cast another locking spell.  
  
"Wait'll Fred hears about this!" he muttered to himself, striding to the back kitchen. After murmuring a hasty _lumos_ , he yelled _nox_ into the shop, then scooped some floo powder and tossed it into the small fireplace.  
  
"The Cleansweep."  
  
  
***  
  
  
Moments later, he stumbled out of an even smaller fireplace into his flat. Fred, always in pursuit of the next play on words, had decided on the name for their connection to the floo network. Their living quarters, for the few months when they had both lived there, were always in a shambles, much like their room at the Burrow. Their shared affections for their beloved brooms, rescued in such a blaze of glory, provided the inspiration for the naming of their new mum-and-siblings-free home.  
  
George dusted some soot off of his jumper and headed to the fridge to get a butterbeer. After popping off the top and taking a couple of swallows, he went back to his room. On one wall was an obligatory poster of the Green Knights, who all waved cheerfully at him as he turned on the light. He absentmindedly waved back, focused on what to pack for the next few days. En route to his closet he walked into a large potted plant, which hissed at him and snaked some nasty-looking tendrils toward his trousers.  
  
"Piss off!" he said, glaring at the fuscia leaves, which retreated back toward the soil.  
  
"Maybe if you watered it, it wouldn't be so cranky," came a voice from a portrait above his chest of drawers.  
  
"Oh. And so when did you become the expert in herbology?" George retorted, turning on his heel to reply.  
  
"I **was** the expert in herbology," Fred replied from the painting, then made a 'tsk-tsk'ing sound. "Or have you already forgotten? They say the memory is the first thing to go."  
  
"Right. I've no doubt I'm getting more daft by the day," George said amicably.  
  
His mother, though she grumbled about it for weeks, had gone ahead and had the twins sit for a proper wizard's portrait, even though they hadn't technically graduated from Hogwarts. She had had portraits done for all of their brothers before them, and ever since Fred had been killed, George remained indebted to his mother for her grudging generosity, as it meant that he could at least still talk to his brother. Out of respect, or the sheer oddity of the situation, the George in the portrait was almost never there. George was not sure where he went, and he hadn't felt it appropriate to ask Fred, him being dead and all.  
  
"You'll never guess who came by the shop tonight," George said, crouching by the bed, looking underneath it for his trunk.  
  
"Dunno. All of Hogsmeade?"  
  
George snorted, pulled the trunk out and onto the bed, then threw back the lid. "That'd be rich, but no. Remus Lupin. D'you remember him?"  
  
"Do I remember him?" Fred exclaimed. "I'm not the one with the piss-poor memory. Surely you don't think a chap would so easily forget finding out one of his former professors is buggering a bad-tempered, bad-smelling escapee from Azkaban?" He leaned against the inside of the frame, one foot perched on a chair, arms crossed on his chest.  
  
"Well. When you put it that way…" George chuckled, waving his wand at a couple of collared shirts, three pair of corduroy slacks, and a dark evergreen set of dress robes which flew across the room and arranged themselves on the bottom of the trunk.  
  
"You think he fancies you?" Fred leered from the portrait.  
  
George whirled around. "Do I what?"  
  
"Are you going deaf now, too?" Fred paced the few steps from one side of the frame to the other, juggling three coins and appearing very amused. "Seems to me that since that incident with that girl- oh, what was her name?"  
  
"Thalia," George muttered, taking the few steps to go into the bathroom, evaluating what to take to his parents'.  
  
"That's right. Thalia. Well, maybe girls just aren't your type!"  
  
George stared at the bottle of Humperdinck's Hair Tonic, muddling through Fred's crass remark. It was true; neither of them had been especially focused on anything or anyone except their plans for the joke shop, though they had experienced their share of exploratory snogging and unspoken-of wanking. Then he and Fred had been captured, Fred tortured and killed, and George had found himself on the frontlines of the War. He'd been more comfortable around the male wizards, easily understandable coming from a family which was almost exclusively male. But that didn't explain away some of the intimacies he had shared during dark nights, and even bleaker days. Fred was probably right. He always had been, damn him. He deflected the comment.  
  
"Who needs types when I have you?" George called from the sink, grabbing an enchanted razor, the shampoo, and reaching into the tub to grab some special bar of soap Ginny had sent him from her travels to France. She'd be pleased to see he was using it.  
  
"Oh shove off," Fred retaliated as George re-entered the room. "I'm not yours, for bollock's sake. I was only kidding." He shrugged. "Tell Mum I say hi."  
  
"I will not!" George thundered, his patience frayed. "She really misses you. And don't go visiting Bill like last year- you'll absolutely unhinge her."  
  
Fred rolled his eyes. "Fine." He looked disapprovingly down from the canvas. "When did you go getting so bloody serious?"  
  
George looked around the room for his neglected bottle, strode to it and finished off most of the contents. "'M not," he protested. "But things are different. It's just not the same without you, y'know."  
  
Fred looked at him from the portrait. "Really?" he asked. "You miss me?"  
  
"'Course, you idiot," George replied, then raised the dregs of the butterbeer to his twin.  
  
"Up your bum!" they toasted in unison, then George set to packing in earnest, half-listening to Fred's suggestions as he tossed items haphazardly into the trunk.  
  
A half-hour later George stood in front of the portrait, wearing a long wool coat and green and white striped scarf, the Green Knight's colours.  
  
Fred grinned at him. "Happy Christmas. Go on." He winked at George. "I have plans."  
  
George groaned and put his fingers in his ears. "Not listening. Not listening."  
  
"Get out. Mum'll be frantic. See you in a few."  
  
George saluted his twin and hauled the trunk to the fireplace. He threw in some floo power.  
  
"The Burrow."  
  
  
***  
  
  
Molly had been frantic, though her admonitions were followed by rousing greetings by his siblings, their spouses or significant others, and his father. A couple of hours later, George and his mother were the last ones up. He had poured himself a splash of firewhiskey and was about to leave the kitchen when he realized he hadn't told her about their potential guest. Though he had invited Lupin, he was over half-sure that he wouldn't show, but he had already invoked his mother's wrath enough for several lifetimes.  
  
"Mum?"  
  
"Yes, what is it?" She had opened the oven door, and wand in hand, guided three pies over to the counter to cool.  
  
"Well, I invited someone over for Christmas dinner. Professor Lupin came by the shop, and I suggested he drop by. I doubt he'll even-"  
  
"Oh, that would be splendid!" his mother interrupted. "I had just been thinking about him today. Must've conjured him. Used to do that all the time, you know," she prattled on as George stared at her, stunned. "I even made a chocolate pie, the one he commented on a few years back, you remember."  
  
George sipped his firewhiskey, looking somewhat frightened at his mother. "No," he admitted. "I don't. With Dad's attack and all, bit of a rough Christmas, that one. "  
  
"Bit of a…" she began, then clucked her tongue as she walked toward him, raising her arms to rest them on his shoulders. "It's late. You've had a long day. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "In the morning, then." George took her left hand from his shoulder and kissed the back of it, then turned and went up the stairs to his old room.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The next day was chill with heavy fog, but inside the Weasley home, candles blazed and every corner was filled with light and good cheer. Around two o'clock, the front door was flung open. Ron towered in the doorway.  
  
"Ron?" Hermione said, interrupting her conversation with George about the latest advances she'd made in Septenology, the obscure branch of studies which focused on spells that drew on the powerful magical qualities of the number seven. "What are you doing outside? You haven't been smoking, have you?"  
  
"No, 'course not!" he replied, though he was waving his elbows just slightly to air out his jacket. "Just getting a breather. And you'll never guess who's here!"  
  
He walked into the entryway and Remus Lupin followed behind him, wearing, to George's surprise, a full length brown leather coat.  
  
"Happy Christmas!" Lupin said, smiling at the assembly. The next few minutes were chaos as he was greeted, hugged, offered both a brandy and a cup of tea, and finally invited to sit on the couch. Percy took his coat to hang it up and then Lupin was hit by a barrage of congratulations about his new reinstatement to the faculty at Hogwarts. The ghostly Professor Binns had suddenly realized that he was dead and had immediately retired, though only after asking Dumbledore for several decades of back pay. At least in the interim, Lupin had been hired to take his place as History of Magic Professor. They asked him how Harry was, and engaged in the usual catching-up until Molly called them to supper. Before Lupin took a seat next to George, Molly came around and embraced him. "I just knew you were coming," she said, beaming.  
  
"Really?" he replied, raising an eyebrow, then sat down into his chair. "Mother's magic." He shook his head. "I should have known."  
  
"Good thing it didn't always work on me and Fred!" George said, grinning at his mum. "Or she'd have gone completely grey by now."  
  
"Who says I haven't?" she shot back. "Maybe I learned a thing or two from Tonks and I chose not to tell you."  
  
"What do you mean?" Ron asked, looking flabbergasted.  
  
"Let's eat this lovely meal that Molly has prepared," Arthur suggested, and they all dug in.  
  
After they had made a sizeable dent in both the main courses and deserts, Lupin turned to George. "Care to go for that walk now? I could stand to stretch my legs."  
  
"Fair enough," George replied as he scooted his chair back from the table. He took in both of their plates, earning a grateful smile from Lupin, who was then pulled back into a conversation with Hermione while Ron and Ginny fought over the last piece of chocolate pie.  
  
"Mum," George said, placing the plates on the cluttered counter, "Lupin and I are going to go to for a walk. You don't mind, do you?"  
  
His mother turned to look at him. "Do I mind?" She raised her arm and placed the back of her hand to his forehead as though to check his temperature. "Are you ill? Did you drink a polyjuice potion? Who are you, really?" She stepped back and stared at him. "My George would never ask permission, especially at his age."  
  
"Very funny," George said. "All right then. I'm going out. Don't ask me where, or how long I'll be gone, because I won't tell you."  
  
"That's better," she said, smiling. "So where are you going?"  
  
George shrugged as he left the kitchen. "None of your business. I'm an adult wizard, remember."  
  
"George! You'd better be back by dark!" she warned, but he was already striding past the table and headed up the stairs for his coat.  
  
The two went outside moments later, having made a couple of discreet good-byes in the midst of the clanging of dishes being cleaned, and Ron and Neville hunkering down to a game of chess.  
  
"Since you've never been to this location before, it'd be best if we apparate together," Lupin suggested.  
  
"That's fine," George replied. "We did this all the time during the War." He walked up to Lupin so they were chest to chest and placed his hands underneath the leather coat, firmly clasping the other man's hips in his hands. Lupin looked a bit surprised, then pleased.  
  
"One should never underestimate a Weasley," he mused. George found his face near Lupin's hair and breathed in the lingering scent of the Burrow, but also underlying traces of pine, and something he couldn't place.  
  
They Apparated.  
  
George found himself standing in a pasture still clutching the other man. Nearby, shaggy white sheep with smears of turquoise paint on their backs looked up absently at them, then returned to grazing. Feeling a bit daring, he took an instant to lean his head down just a bit to sniff at Lupin's neck. That mysterious odour was still there, but he was still just as unable to identify what it was.  
  
"Is everything all right?" Lupin asked, turning his head but not stepping out from George's hold. "I do seem to remember taking a bath this morning…"  
  
George somewhat unsteadily let go of Lupin and shuffled back. "No, it's nothing like that," he found himself saying. "You smell good. Didn't mean to be sniffing you like some mangy- "  
  
"It's all right," Lupin interrupted. "Flattering, really." He shoved his hands into his pockets, but smiled warmly at George, who again felt as though the older man's gaze, while kind, also had a predatory appraisal behind it. A flicker of heat stirred in his groin as George realized that he rather enjoyed being eyed by Lupin. Laid bare, almost, underneath his particularly focused attentions.  
  
"… which is why I brought us to this particular cairn," Lupin was saying.  
  
_Bollocks!_ George swore to himself. He'd been so discombobulated by his over-active imagination that now he'd missed out on something important. _Pixie's piss._  
  
"Mmmmm," he replied, striding away from Lupin to go to the other side of the mound of large stones. He tried to look insightfully at the rocks while attempting to dredge up something coherent from his soggy mind as a potential reply. He decided on the safest mode of action: silence. He looked down at the piles of quarried grey spheres. They weren't that impressive, he decided, then he looked out across the field. There he saw the taller ones, unmoving stony sentinels huddled in circles, or fallen over, half buried in the ground. He watched as Lupin ambled toward a cluster of grey slabs, then stopped in front of one. He took his naked hand out of his pocket and pressed it against the monolith, then undulated his fingers against it, as though caressing the rock. George was both fascinated and made uncomfortable by the display. What had he been thinking? The man had been a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, which meant that he probably knew all sorts of horrifying and very, very, very old curses. Which might include the obtaining of a lot of blood from a young, red-haired man of pure wizarding stock. He began to get rather creeped out.  
  
"George!" Lupin called out. "Would you come here for a minute?"  
  
George came to his senses. This was Lupin, for goodness' sake. Determined to keep his ridiculous thoughts to a minimum, he strode purposefully toward the older man until he stood next to him.  
  
"Hold out your hand," Lupin demanded. George complied, and Lupin's pale fingers took him by the wrist and placed his hand against the frigid stone. George stood, palm pressed to the rock as a cold breeze blew his hair into his face, wondering why he was in the middle of nowhere at dusk on Christmas Day, with Remus Lupin holding his hand to a large chunk of granite. He'd never hear the end of it from Fred. If he told him.  
  
He watched Lupin make a furtive glance around the field, take out his wand, and point it at the slab. _"Clipian Sunne,"_ he murmured. The rock grew warm. George felt as though he were bathed in sunlight. He turned to look at Lupin, who seemed to be glowing. What was going on? He felt waves of heat pulse through him, some of it pooling in a rather inappropriate location in his trousers, but he found that he didn't care. Lupin's eyes were shining at him, his face lit from within. He was beautiful, George decided. No, striking was more like it. But definitely attractive. All of those scars gave him a rather battle-worn, but compelling face. He had a sudden vision of himself lying naked, basking under the other man's hungry gaze -  
  
\- and pulled his hand from the stone. The warmth fled from him, and he waited for the excitement he had felt for Lupin to vanish with it. But it didn't.  
  
"Um," George began, "what was that?"  
  
Lupin pulled his hand off of the stone as well, and released George's wrist. "A _solaris_ spell, though for it to work in this area you have to speak the words in Anglo-Saxon. It's very old," he continued, leaning into the monolith and looking thoughtfully at George.  
  
" _Solaris?_ Never heard of it," George fumbled, putting his now-cold hand back into his pants pocket.  
  
"You wouldn't," Lupin replied. "Centuries ago, wizards all over what is now the Muggle United Kingdom tried to find a way to trap the heat and light from the sun during the dark months of winter. They created spells to do so, essentially summoning the sun, and enchanted many of the more impressive standing stones with them. Powerful, very specialised magic."  
  
George tried to look as though he were giving Lupin's comments serious thought, though he was really feeling both gratitude and a twinge of loss as his blood flow returned to normal. He nonchalantly hitched up his corduroys, readjusting pants and posture as his more private bits loosened back to their usual and less obtrusive manner.  
  
"It doesn't have any other effects?" George asked, taking his left hand back out of his pocket to pull his too-long hair out of his eyes. Ugh. He needed a haircut.  
  
"None that I am aware of, and I've been visiting this area for years. And some monoliths in Wales." Lupin looked at him intently. "Why? Did something trouble you?"  
  
George bit the inside of his cheek, wondering how to answer. Was he troubled that he found himself rather unexpectedly attracted to the man? Or was it more that he was sure that he had been misreading Lupin since he had given him a once-over in the shop? Lacking Fred's virtuosic spontaneity, but sharing his forthrightness, George replied, "No. Just had a flash of something naughty."  
  
Lupin's mouth twitched into an intrigued smile, and George placed his hand reassuringly on the soft leather of the other man's coat sleeve.  
  
"Don't worry," he continued. "I'll spare you any details. They're bound to be nauseating."  
  
George watched Lupin's gaze travel from his freckled hand down to his pedestrian footwear, and back up to his face. He was already reliving the ridiculousness of his offhand proposition when he heard, "Naughty, hmmm? Sounds like something I might want to hear about in detail."  
  
"Maybe I'll spill after you've had a couple of Skullsplitters," he went on, "but I'm sure you're busy with teaching and all that."  
  
George mentally beat himself about the head. _Bloody hell! 'Maybe I'll spill after…'_  
  
Lupin looked amused, even paternal.  
  
_Sod it._ He was an idiot. The Village Idiot. His father's fascination with all things Muggle had managed to seep into his brain, despite his and Fred's decided disinterest in the non-wizarding world. The odd phrase pulsed behind his eyes, threatening to give him a headache.  
  
"Gryffindor plays Ravenclaw in a few weeks. Seeing as how you usually come back to watch Ginny play, would you consider staying to have dinner in my quarters afterwards?"  
  
George teetered on his reply. How did Lupin know that he came back to watch one of Gryffindor's most lauded Seekers, once Quidditch and Hogwarts classes had resumed some semblance of normalcy after the War? Of course Ginny was a natural; it ran in the family.  
  
"Love to," he said. And he meant it.  
  
"Right then," Lupin said. "Skullsplitters it is. They were a favourite of mine when I was in Glasgow."  
  
"It's all Ron's influence," George admitted. "He's nothing but a magnet for bad habits." He chuckled. "As opposed to me and my absolutely saintly past."  
  
"I'll owl you," Lupin said smiling, putting a hand on George's shoulder and running it down his arm. "And please thank Molly for her exquisite meal. I had a wonderful time."  
  
Dusk was settling darkly around them. George took his right hand to clasp the one on his forearm. "Will do. I'm glad you came by the shop." After a pause, he said, "Til the match, then."  
  
"Til the match."  
  
  
***  
  
  
George Apparated to the Burrow, made his pleasantries through the rest of the evening, and went to bed. There seemed to be some lingering heat from the trip to Kilmartin trapped in his groin, however; some unfortunate reawakening that needed tending to. Not that he wasn't practised at taking care of himself by now, seeing as how having sex with anybody just hadn't been a real priority of late. Or the last couple of years, for that matter.  
  
An image of Lupin, his silver-streaked hair curling above his shoulders as George held him from behind, jumped friskily to mind. He wasn't sure that Lupin wouldn't be horrified that George was thinking about him that way, but George decided it was as good as any as far as fantasies went. He closed his eyes, cast a hasty and often-uttered silencing charm, and imagined Lupin's husky voice egging him on.  
  
It wasn't long at all before he was sated.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Rather than several weeks, it was only a few days before George saw Lupin again. He came by Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes ostensibly to buy a birthday gift for yet another young and distant relative.  
  
"I didn't know you came from a large family, too," George said, wrapping a box of double-headed coins, vaguely noticing Zap's admonishments to some unsupervised children in a corner of the shop.  
  
"I didn't. But my father did. I have several cousins, and they have children now. I'm an only child." He seemed about to say something, then censored himself.  
  
"D'you want to go get a coffee or something?" George asked, wishing that his mouth wouldn't insist on acting independently of his brain. "If you have time, that is."  
  
Lupin looked pleased. "Seeing as how the term hasn't started, and I've actually made some progress on my syllabi, I'd be happy to."  
  
"I'll just go tell Zap I'm going out." He stopped by the coat rack to get his coat and scarf before entrusting the store to Zap for a bit, then the two men went out into Hogsmeade.  
  
"Bloody cold, it is," George said, blowing on his hands. Ever since his mother had charmed mittens onto Fred and him when they were young, he had had an aversion to any kind of handcovering, even in the dead of winter.  
  
"Indeed," Lupin affirmed, pulling his scarf up his neck. They walked through the cobbled streets in a companionable silence, occasionally ducking to avoid the few charmed post-Christmas sales flyers that tried to divebomb their heads. They stopped at Tripe and Toadstools, a place where George grabbed sandwiches on occasion. It was also known for its coffee, strong enough to singe the eyebrows. After ordering, they sat at a table away from the windows, and talked about Hogwarts, brooms (Lupin was stupendously knowledgeable about the newest Skyrunner models, to George's surprise), wizard history, and socializing. Or lack thereof.  
  
"Well," Lupin said, finishing his corned beef on rye, "I suspect that you have a rather full social calendar, being who you are."  
  
"Who I am?" George coughed over the crumbly remnants of his tuna salad. "I may be self-made, but I must admit, aside from seeing Lee Jordan on occasion, bless him, and Towler, our old roommate, I spend most of my time at the shop. Or tinkering with prototypes."  
  
"Nice looking young man like yourself?" Lupin said incredulously. "I'd have imagined there would be witches lined up at your door." He took a sip of coffee.  
  
"No, nothing like that," George said hastily. "Besides, it's Bill and Charlie who have the looks. Well, Bill did, anyway. And Ginny, I suppose- but she's my sister. She could be Witch Beauty of the year and I wouldn't recognize it."  
  
George studied Lupin's face, judging his reaction. He thought he saw a flicker of intrigue, and decided that since they were in a secluded part of the café and he was tired of second-guessing Lupin's intents, he would go ahead and be completely honest. They had both finished their sandwiches; if things turned horrifically awkward they had no reason to linger.  
  
"And, well, I'm not sure that it's women I'd want lined up at my door anyway."  
  
He picked up his coffee cup, realized it was empty, and put it down on its saucer with a clatter.  
  
"Really." Lupin stretched out the syllables and gave George a provocative look, raising one eyebrow. "So are there wizards lining up at your door, then?"  
  
"Not last time I checked," George said, admiring the other's man's long fingers as they held his cup. "Like I said, there doesn't seem to be a rush of ladies or gents interested in red-haired joke shop owners." _What the hell,_ he thought. _Go out with gusto._ "Bit of a shame, really!"  
  
"Yes, it is," Lupin agreed.  
  
George thought back to his fantasy from a few nights prior and threw any remaining caution to the wind. Lupin had only been his instructor for one year, after all, and that was several years ago. They were now both adults. "Are you interested," he paused, and settled on the man's more personal name, "Remus?"  
  
"Most certainly."  
  
There was an undercurrent of a growl in the reply that made George's pulse race and his cock respond with enthusiasm. _Merlin's beard._  
  
"The term doesn't start until next week," Lupin went on. "Would you care to meet me at the Selkie's Swim for drinks tomorrow? That is," he smiled salaciously, "if you don't already have plans."  
  
_Even if I did, I'd chuck them,_ George thought to himself. The tightness in his groin increased. _Down, you impossible bastard._  
  
"That'd be brilliant."  
  
"Eight o'clock, then? And you know where it is?"  
  
"Yeah. Been there once or twice with Ron and his team."  
  
Lupin nodded. "I should be getting back to Hogwarts, but I'm very much looking forward to tomorrow."  
  
They both rose from their chairs. George was half a head shorter than Lupin; aside from Ginny, and their mum, he was the shortest Weasley in the line. Lupin extended his arms to clasp George's hand in a warm and lingering hold.  
  
"Me too." He watched as Lupin gracefully put on his overcoat, gathered his briefcase and the gift, and went out into the cold afternoon.  
  
_This has got to be one of the oddest winter holidays on record,_ George contemplated. But potentially very pleasant. Oh, who did he think he was kidding? He hadn't had a shag in a couple of years, much less even a good snog. And now he was being pursued by an older man, and a handsome one at that. And experienced, he was sure.  
  
George willed his thoughts away to those of a far more mundane nature. He had the afternoon to get through, after all, and Zap would ask questions if he spent it with a ridiculous grin on his face. He was good-natured, but not _that_ good-natured. He put a few coins on the table, shrugged on his wool jacket, and left the café.  
  
  
***  
  
  
"Oh! This is a new, all-time low," Fred scowled from the portrait the next evening. "Lupin? Drinks? Are you mad?"  
  
George pointedly ignored him as he entered the bathroom and cast a sharpening charm on his razor.  
  
"Desperate, more likely," Fred went on, his voice carrying through the room. "Surely Lee could have set you up with someone more… more…"  
  
"More what, exactly?" George smirked into the mirror, shaving around the cleft in his chin.  
  
"More appropriate, you bastard," came from the bedroom. "He's as old as Dad. And what's wrong with girls, anyway?" Fred continued.  
  
George methodically removed the coppery stubble from his face, imagining Fred pacing within the confines of the frame. If his twin hadn't badgered him so much about who he was getting dressed up for, he wouldn't be dealing with these questions now. Even beyond the grave, however, he and Fred kept no secrets. Would that they could.  
  
"He's not that old!" George yelled from the sink, dabbing a bit more shaving cream on his neck, scraping the razor down his freckled flesh. "And there's nothing wrong with girls. Just don't fancy them. Like that. Much."  
  
There was a disgusted sound from the bedroom as George took a washcloth and ran it under the enchanted hot tap. He held the steaming cloth to his face, inhaling the moisture, until he heard another oddly familiar voice enter the fray, and he stepped out of the bathroom, puzzled.  
  
The portrait-George and portrait-Fred were arguing. George stood staring at the two with a warped fascination, seeing his picture-self defending whatever honour he might have had to his brother, who would have none of it. They were so busy telling each other off that he was able to get dressed and ready to leave without interacting with them.  
  
"I'm leaving, lads," he said pointedly, pausing in front of the large frame.  
  
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Really," Fred said sourly. "Or if you do, don't do it here."  
  
"C'mon," George pleaded, moving in to rest his hands on the chest of drawers. "We never fought for long - just call me the list of names you have in mind and be done with it. And anyway, aren't you working on the answer spells for the fortune-telling frogs?"  
  
"Yes," Fred mumbled, looking sullen, but the more usual devious glint in his eyes had returned.  
  
"Oy! George! Get back here!"  
  
George started, then realized that Fred was talking to his portrait-self. "You haven't let me down on those permutations using Lotho's Laws of Least-Likelihood, have you?"  
  
"No," the portrait-George replied, and George knew that things would soon be back to normal, or at least as normal as they ever were.  
  
"Right. Well, don't wait up," he said to the painting.  
  
Fred rolled his eyes, but made a shooing motion. "Go on, have fun, but do remember if you're found spewing your guts up in some alley somewhere, I can't come rescue you."  
  
George winced, and felt a brief wave of melancholy wash over him. "I'll remember that," he replied.  
  
***  
  
  
He was early. George sat at the bar, having finished around a quarter of his pint when Lupin arrived. The other man looked around the pub, then his gaze settled on George. The silver in his hair caught the light as he nodded his head in acknowledgement, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth.  
  
George smiled as Lupin approached.  
  
"George," Lupin said fondly as he eyed George's glass. "Already started, I see."  
  
"I was early, for once," George explained as Lupin pulled off his coat and rested it in the crook of his arm.  
  
"Would you care to sit at a booth?"  
  
"Sure." George slid off of his stool. "What'd you like? I'll shout the first round," he went on, trying not to stare at the hollow of Lupin's neck, framed by the rich chocolate brown collar of his shirt.  
  
"No. This was my idea, I'll get it," Lupin insisted.  
  
"I'm the successful businessman, remember?" George challenged, placing his hand on Lupin's upper arm. _Suede!_ his brain registered. _Lupin obviously hasn't been doing too badly for himself, either._  
  
"All right," Lupin acquiesced, turning to the bartender and murmuring his order. George dropped three sickles on the bar to pay for his lager. The older man inclined his head toward a quieter part of the pub and George began walking in that direction. He found himself gently steered through the throng, a very warm hand on his upper back.  
  
_Quite nice feeling, that,_ George thought to himself, then wavered uncertainly at the table where they stopped. _Blast._ He didn't want to be across the table from those comforting fingers, but he didn't want to shove in next to Lupin - Remus - like a sodding schoolgirl, either. He opted for distance, hoping that there would be a chance to rectify that later.  
  
A waiter showed up moments later with a tray and two small tumblers. George had just downed a bit more of his Skullsplitter and found himself under the expectant gaze of the server. "That'll be four galleons," he said.  
  
George's eyes widened as he looked at Lupin, who rewarded him with a conniving smile. George paid, and the waiter left.  
  
"What's in these?" he asked as Lupin chuckled. "Gold?"  
  
Despite thinking that Lupin had bought the most expensive beverages in the pub because George had offered to pay, he was glad that the other man had had the balls enough to do so. George had come to look forward to hearing Lupin speak, or make those pleasant rumbly noises in his throat. There was something in Lupin's voice, especially when he laughed, that had a slight rasp to it that hinted at an element of the untamed which contradicted his orderly appearance. After growing up in a household of people who were earnest to a fault, except, perhaps, for Fred, George was intrigued by the element of carefulness to Lupin. Far more complicated emotions seemed to harbour beneath his composure, complexities that George was sure he had been far too sidetracked to notice in school.  
  
"It's Laphroaig. Single malt scotch. If this doesn't warm you up, well, you're past saving."  
  
George took his glass and raised it to Lupin.  
  
"To new discoveries. And being warm," he toasted.  
  
"To new discoveries," Lupin echoed. "And men of fire."  
  
George almost blushed, but willed the heat of the attention he received further down his body. It settled rather unnecessarily between his legs, where it was not needed, but what the hell. He was too old to blush.  
  
"Wow, that's…"  
  
"Potent. Far more so than firewhiskey." Lupin took another sip. "Muggles may be woefully underserved in many aspects of life, but in the distillation of spirits, I believe they have the upper hand."  
  
"Dad, as you know, is fascinated," George said, returning to his beer.  
  
From there the conversation meandered from Muggle artifacts to some of the headlines in the Daily Prophet to the travels they had made. Over another couple of rounds they discussed the high and low points of Nova Scotia, where they had both visited at different times, then delved off into a philosophical analysis of some of the magical elements of laughter.  
  
George was flushed and his thoughts were flying in a hundred directions when a lull in the conversation blanketed him. Lupin raised his arm to attract their server's attention.  
  
"Two waters, please," George heard, and he smiled in gratitude. That scotch had been wicked. He watched Lupin absently lick his lower lip then bite down on it, and in that instant, he decided it was time to go. He was astonishingly comfortable with Remus, and wanted to know what it would feel like to run his tongue across those inviting lips.  
  
After the waters were presented they drank in silence, George studying Lupin's throat as he swallowed.  
  
"Well," Lupin said, leaning back into the cushion of his seat. "It's not so late. Care for a coffee at my place? The Laphroaig is rather strong."  
  
"No kidding," George smiled, then he thought about traipsing around Hogwarts and the possibility of running into McGonagall, or Dumbledore, and his desire waned. "Where are you…"  
  
"No, not at my school quarters. I should have specified - I meant my house. We'll have to Apparate together." Lupin seemed as ready as George to get out of the stuffy pub and to a more isolated location. "Again," he added, smiling.  
  
"I think I'll manage."  
  
George only hoped that he didn't sound as eager as he felt. He was no naive virgin, but he was definitely out of practice in everything. But _oh god!_ he had just been given an open invitation to press up close to Lupin again. 'To men of fire,' he had said. George stretched an arm across the table and grasped Lupin's hand. He brought the elegant fingers to his mouth and kissed the pad of each digit, one by one, then released him. Without taking his eyes off of George, Lupin traced his mouth with his newly-kissed fingers. When his pink tongue darted out to lick between two of his fingers, looking pointedly at George, he knew definitely that it was really, truly time to leave.  
  
As he followed the older man and they made their way outside, George apprised Lupin's narrow hips, the way the fabric of his trousers seemed to cling to his slightly squarish backside, and… Oh, bloody hell. He'd show him a man of fire all right.  
  
They walked a discreet distance around the corner of the Selkie's Swim and Lupin opened his coat, looking down slightly at George with a decidedly hungry gaze. George stepped closer, this time placing his hands firmly on Lupin's arse, and found a hardness that mirrored his own pressed up high into his hip and abdomen. He tried not to grind into him there in the alley, instead taking a deep sniff of Lupin's neck, closed his eyes, and they Apparated.  
  
  
***  
  
  
George paused only long enough to make sure that they were on solid ground before pulling his hands somewhat reluctantly from Lupin's arse and out of his coat to nestle them in his wavy hair. Lupin must have had similar intentions because he leaned his head down while drawing his hands up George's back to splay them on his neck, cradling his chin with his thumbs.  
  
"May I?" Lupin asked, the words breathed onto George's open mouth.  
  
George's reply was moaned into Lupin's lips as they kissed. He held onto Lupin's head, his own shameless mouth not even bothering to close, his tongue seeking the other man's, surprised at the fervour with which Lupin plundered him. He tasted the lingering flavour of scotch as he ran his tongue behind Lupin's teeth, then licked at his bottom lip as Lupin himself had done in the pub, and nipped it with his own teeth for good measure. His mouth seemed to be directly linked to his aching cock. He'd never been this turned on by kissing before, and could only imagine what anything else would do to him. Probably spontaneously combust in a blaze of satisfied glory. One could hope.  
  
Lupin abandoned his mouth and George made a disappointed noise, rubbing his very hard erection into Lupin's thigh. Hot breath filled his ear, and a deft tongue traced his earlobe, then forayed further. George tried not to, but he laughed, and saw a cloud of vapor fill the cold air.  
  
"Something funny?" Lupin murmured, biting his earlobe.  
  
"No," George said, running his hands down Lupin's back to pull him closer by the hips. "Just a bit ticklish, but you feel aaaahhhmmmmm."  
  
He lost the capability for speech as Lupin breathed into his ear again and insinuated his hand down George's torso to his groin, where he caressed the hard bulge there.  
  
"Mmmmm," Lupin said, breathing into his ear again. "The house is far warmer than out here on the grass. Inside?"  
  
George turned Lupin's face to him, fascinated by his prominent cheekbones and slightly swollen lips. He pressed his mouth to the other man's again, and it opened for him. George savoured the feeling of his tongue sliding on Lupin's as Lupin continued to stroke him, then he leaned back, catching his breath.  
  
"Yes. Let's."  
  
George hated to step away from Lupin, and did so only grudgingly. When he turned to look at the house, he exclaimed in shock, "Bloody hell! That's lot of wards."  
  
Lupin turned back to George and pressed his hands on George's hips. "You do know what I am, don't you?"  
  
George, still panting slightly, was surprised to see a flicker of worry in the other man's eyes.  
  
"Werewolf, right?"  
  
Lupin nodded, obviously relieved.  
  
"It was pretty much common knowledge after fifth year. It's not…" his voice trailed off and he glanced upward. _Cloudy. Figures._  
  
"No. Four days past new moon, if you're worried," Lupin said, moving in closer. He pulled George's wayward hair back from his forehead and with his tongue traced a hot, slick line from his forehead down the side of his face and agonizingly, back to his sensitive ear. "I don't bite," he said, and George felt as much as heard the wanton lust in the words.  
  
"I just might," he replied.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Lupin had a thing for music.  
  
George practically attacked him once they were inside, the two men having dropped their coats in an untidy heap by the door. Lupin had escaped for a few precious minutes to place some small silver, circular disc thing in some mechanism that George was sure his dad would have given at least one finger to see in action. George didn't care, as moments later, after shucking off his unique boots and socks, he was straddling the man, on a rather plain - but very comfortable - bed.  
  
Ambient music that he had never heard, obviously Muggle, permeated the room. He tried not to stare at his own ridiculous freckled fingers as he unbuttoned Lupin's luxurious shirt so he could remove it as quickly as possible. Hair, exquisite tawny curls were everywhere. All over Lupin's chest. Down his thin abdomen, unlike George's own more muscled one. Encircling the taut nipples on which George lavished an inordinate amount of attention, enjoying nothing so much as the open-mouthed panting and whimpers that Lupin made when he bit at them, feeling Lupin's nails in his scalp where his fingers had taken hold. Then he saw the tattoo. With his tongue he laved at the faded, unobtrusive grey set of numbers below Lupin's collarbone, then raised himself up so he could breathe the question into the older man's mouth.  
  
"What're the numbers for?' he asked.  
  
Hooded golden eyes looked at him, and George suddenly felt very young.  
  
"Werewolf registry."  
  
"Oh."  
  
George sat back, running his fingers down Lupin's ribs to his waist, surreptitiously rocking against the other man.  
  
"If you play with fire, you should expect to get burned," George warned through shreds of his pride. Was he too young? _Bollocks._ He might not be the most experienced wizard around, but he was determined to make this an evening that Lupin did not soon forget.  
  
"And if you run with the wolves, you should expect to howl."  
  
Lupin gave him a scorching gaze, and George felt any inadequacies vanish like smoke. He breathed on Lupin's prominent erection through the cloth, then, after being momentarily satisfied with the noises that he heard, George pulled the pants down.  
  
_Shite. Shoes._  
  
George scooted backward off of the bed to untie Lupin's shoes. He dropped them to the floor, tugged off Lupin's unexpectedly colourful argyle socks, then removed his pants and boxers. He glanced up at Lupin's thick cock. _Mine,_ he thought as he got back up on the bed, kissing the inside of Lupin's thighs as he slowly made his way up his lithe form.  
  
Suddenly George found himself pulled up Remus's body and turned on his back. Lupin, though thin, had unexpected speed and strength. George groaned with pleasure while Remus covered his chest and abdomen with biting kisses and those tantalysing fingers - oh god - fingers that should surely be housed in some guarded cell - undid his shirt and then pulled open his pants, delving greedily for his cock, which surged in response.  
  
"Merlin!" George exclaimed as Remus made an appreciative noise, leaning down to lick the head.  
  
_I am going to die, tormented into a pile of blissful ash,_ George thought, moaning as Lupin's talented tongue circled his prick, teasing it. His petulant cock twitched, greedy for the attention.  
  
"You're wearing far too many clothes," Remus murmured, edging back just far enough to snake his fingers under the elastic of George's boxers. George was only too happy to help rid himself of his jeans, drawers and shirt, finally lying naked on the bed.  
  
"Even more vibrant than I imagined," Remus said, his voice husky. "A living fire."  
  
"You've imagined this?" George gasped as Remus rubbed their cocks together.  
  
"Since Kilmartin."  
  
Astonished, and almost painfully aroused, George whispered, "Me too."  
  
With arms strong from Quidditch, he pulled Lupin to him then rolled him over, pinning him down to pillage his neck, to lick across a lifetime of scars. George grinned inwardly when Lupin growled, the other man's fingers raking down his back as George introduced his lips to new hipbones, to strong and narrow thighs, to an erection that begged without words to be ravaged, which George did with no mercy and all kindness. He registered hearing adulations and curses as he suckled and teased, again inhaling that inexplicable scent which wafted up now from between Remus's thighs, until all at once he sensed the other man was going to come. George's hair was grasped painfully, and using muscles long out of use, he kept his lips at their task as Lupin thrust into his mouth. Salty, otherwise inexplicably bland fluid coated George's tongue, and pulsed down his throat. He swallowed a few times, then crawled up Lupin's chest to kiss him deeply.  
  
Remus clutched at George's shoulders, the younger man trying unsuccessfully not to writhe against him. George moved away from Remus's mouth, darting out his tongue to catch a stray drop of sweat which meandered into the hollow of his neck. Inspired, George sucked hard on the spot, then drew back to blow gently on the reddening skin.  
  
"You. Are. Dangerously. Erotic." Remus's long fingers lauded George's heated skin, reverently running up through the sweaty hair sticking to George's neck. "And shamefully unsatisfied." George felt his breath hitch as Remus lifted the hair behind his ear. "You aren't howling yet," Remus admonished, licking his earlobe and reaching out his arm for something on a side table.  
  
"Not yet," George admitted, though the ache in his cock was about to push him to such an unlikely outburst.  
  
"Yet."  
  
George was turned over and his body deliciously ransacked. Remus took one of George's nipples into his mouth and ground his teeth lightly around it at the same time that he grasped George's cock in his hand.  
  
"Ahhhhh! Merlin! Fuck!" Incapable of regular speech, George incanted incoherent exultations of bliss into the room. His cock was plunged into a drenching, hot mouth, his balls massaged in a pliant caress. Trying not to explode right then and there, he concentrated on a new sensation. A slickened finger slid across his fevered skin toward his arse, which was his undoing. George had only just felt himself tenderly invaded when he felt the unmistakable shudder of release and tried to warn the other man, but all he could do was jut his hips upward in primal gratitude.  
  
"Remus!" he pleaded, surging under the relentless attention until he sagged back onto the covers, spent and exhausted.  
  
Remus took his time cleaning George with his tongue, then drew himself up to join George on the pillows.  
  
"You're amazing," George exhaled, running his thumb over the other man's lips. "Don't know why you've looked at me twice, but you're bloody incredible."  
  
"You don't?" Lupin asked, the words barely a murmur. "You, a cheery, handsome gent, and irrepressibly clever?"  
  
George grunted. "Sounds like me in school." He gave Lupin a hard look. "You didn't fancy me in school, did you?"  
  
Lupin chuckled, running a hand down George's back. "No. You and Fred were striking, but I certainly never thought of you like this," he leaned over and kissed George tenderly, "back then. I must admit to succumbing to your adult charms only very recently. You obviously don't realize how attractive you are."  
  
George certainly didn't. Stocky, covered head to toe in freckles, well-endowed, as far as those things went, but otherwise just George: joke shop owner, occasional pick-up Quidditch player, dutiful son and brother, loyal friend. But attractive?  
  
"Don't reckon so," he answered.  
  
"Will you still come to the game next month?"  
  
George shifted, beginning to feel awkward. This was obviously his clue to leave. "Definitely. Wouldn't miss watching Ginny for anything." He started to pull away from Lupin, but found he was held in the muscled arm.  
  
"Where are you going?" Remus looked slightly insulted. "Do you have other plans for the evening?"  
  
"Oh. No." George contentedly slid back down, placing his head on the furred chest, his left hand reaching up to trace the faded numbers below Remus's clavicle. "Thought you were being diplomatic about asking me to go."  
  
"Only if you're uncomfortable about staying."  
  
George turned his face toward Remus, evaluating the scars, the small creases around his eyes. "No. But I should warn you; Fred always said that I snored. You may be kicking yourself for asking me over when you haven't gotten a wink of sleep."  
  
Remus smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dim room. "I'll take that risk."  
  
"Brave man." George kissed the side of his neck where he had left a mark. "Don't say you weren't warned. Um, toilet?"  
  
"There's a bathroom down the hall on the left," Remus said, running his fingers through George's mussed red hair.  
  
George got up and rummaged through the chaotic pile of clothes on the floor until he found his boxers and pulled them on. There was another appreciative "hmmmm"ing sound from the bed.  
  
"You really are a vision," Remus said, as George sensed the other man's gaze taking him in from head to foot. "For a Gryffindor, you look extraordinary in what is almost Slytherin green."  
  
George looked at his cotton boxers, then affected a Quidditch calendar pin-up pose. "Well, there's no accounting for taste, but I was approached by Witch's Weekly a year ago. Seems as though I'd made it to the top 50 Most Eligible Bachelors under 30."  
  
Remus quirked an eyebrow. "Really?"  
  
"Yes," George leaned back down over the clothes to retrieve his shirt. Away from Remus's body heat, the house was quite cold. "Must try to find those poor deluded sods who voted for me. There must have been money involved."  
  
He winked at Remus then went off to the toilet. Once there he realized he was missing an integral and dearly-needed item: a toothbrush. He walked back through the kitchen to retrieve his wand out of his coat, which was now inexplicably hanging up on a chair, then returned to the bathroom. It was fairly austere, but he was able to find a comb that looked fairly clean, and after a few seconds of thought, he aimed his wand. _Dentia lava._ He was brushing with gusto when Remus appeared in the doorway a few minutes later.  
  
"Do you need a- Oh. That's quite. Colourful."  
  
George rinsed his mouth and the temporarily transfigured toothbrush.  
  
"May I see it?"  
  
"Sure." He handed the toothbrush to Remus, who turned it around in his hand, smiling.  
  
"G.K. Shouldn't it be G.W.? And this fascination with the colour green. I'm really beginning to wonder."  
  
George shrugged, leaning across the sink. "Green Knights. The team Ron's the assistant coach of. I was always really good at Transfigurations; McGonagall has never forgiven me for leaving before taking my N.E.W.T. in it."  
  
"I believe you." He placed the toothbrush into a small stand, then pulled George to him. "Come to bed. You must be freezing."  
  
"Not any more," George sighed in satisfaction as they went back to Remus's bedroom.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Fred was cross the next day when George didn't return to the Cleansweep until after lunchtime. "I don't understand!" he said for the dozenth time, pacing across the portrait.  
  
"You don't have to," George replied, also for the dozenth time, catching a glimpse of the portrait-George giving him a hasty thumbs-up behind Fred's back.  
  
"What if you get lovesick and don't realize it's the full moon and he tries to eat you because you're being an idiot?" Fred scowled from the near edge of the frame.  
  
"I'm not stupid, you wanker," George retorted. "Merlin! First you go and die on me, and now you're prejudiced. Besides, if what you used to tell me about Angelina is true, Lupin gives far more spectacular blow jobs than you ever experienced."  
  
The portrait-George looked very interested in this bit of information, but in a show of loyalty, followed Fred as he stomped out of the painting.  
  
Fred returned a couple of days later, back to his normal self.  
  
George and Lupin exchanged a few owled pieces of correspondence, but not of a particularly intimate nature, rather to George's disappointment. Lupin wrote that he was busy with his classes, and George had plenty to do at the joke shop. He did keep hoping that another of Lupin's second cousins, or cousins once removed, whatever they were, would have a birthday and need another gift, but to no avail. He and Zap had plenty to do restocking Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes after the Christmas holidays, and he spent several late nights in the kitchen-cum-workshop where he worked on perfecting the fortune-telling frogs. He relived the night with Lupin several times, and found that he was really looking forward to seeing the older man again, and hearing his voice. Among other things.  
  
Two days before the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match, as George was getting ready for bed, he heard an owl tapping at his kitchen window. He let it in and went rummaging for some bits of leftover ham to assuage it, since it seemed that the poor bird was underfed. It had a small package attached to its leg, with the initials R.J.L. stamped in the left hand corner. George untied the twine from around the box, wondering what Remus had sent, trying not to get his hopes up about his upcoming trip to the school.  
  
Inside the box was dark green tissue paper. He pushed it aside to see a pair of equally dark green silk boxers. A small, neatly folded piece of parchment was nestled in the middle. Very interesting, George thought, petting the back of his fingers against the decadent fabric before picking up the note.  
  
_"Dear George,  
  
Can't stop thinking about you. I've become obsessed with the colours red and green. Wanted to send you something that I hope you'll be wearing on Friday. At least for a little while.  
  
Shamelessly,  
  
Remus"_  
  
George reread the four sentences several times until he noticed the owl nibbling at his sleeve.  
  
"Oy! What is it? Oh. You're not supposed to go back without a reply."  
  
George pondered what to write back, trying to will away an unfortunate burgeoning excitement moving in his rather bland y-fronts.  
  
_Dear Remus,  
  
Thank you for the boxers. I hope that you haven't cast some kind of Dark Arts spell on them, unless it involves shagging a red-haired wizard.  
  
Hopeless,  
  
George_  
  
No. That was ridiculous.  
  
_Dear Remus,  
  
Will now commence wanking for two days straight. Consider the joke shop closed through the week-end.  
  
Until Friday,  
  
George_  
  
No. Even more ridiculous.  
  
"Fuck. How am I supposed to write back to that?" he asked the rhetorical question to the owl, which alternated preening behind its left wing and rather unsettlingly turning its head in an almost 360 degree circle, looking around the small kitchenette with its unblinking eyes.  
  
"You're no help," he complained, going to the fridge and taking out a butterbeer. The owl only hooted and readdressed its attentions to the bits of ham.  
  
_Dear Remus,  
  
I've never received a gift like this before, and am incredibly flattered. To be perfectly honest, I've been thinking a lot about you too, and am hoping you'll want to fuck me so thoroughly that I'll be sore from here to Thursday._  
  
Whoops. Too brazen.  
  
_Dear Remus,  
  
I've never received a gift like this before, and am incredibly flattered. To be perfectly honest, I've been thinking about you as well, and am looking forward to seeing you again.  
  
Reckon I'll be wearing green.  
  
At least for a little while.  
  
Equally shameless,  
  
George_  
  
He managed to write the message in a relatively legible scrawl, then attached it to the owl's leg.  
  
"Back to Hogwarts with you," he said affectionately, scratching the owl behind its head. It hooted in pleasure, then looked at the window.  
  
"Oh. Sorry." George hauled up the window to give the owl more room to spread its wings, and then it was gone. He sank down into a chair and stared at the present, wondering exactly how he was going to act like he had for the other Quidditch matches, as though he were really only there to see his sister play.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Another wretchedly cold and overcast day. He tightened the red and gold scarf around his neck and tucked it into his dragonskin coat, a vestige of the past. But green. And very warm. George kicked off from the ground and flew to the Hogwarts Quidditch field, savouring the feeling of his old but reliable broom underneath him. He landed near the grounds with a good twenty minutes to spare before the match, taking in the ridiculously small figures of current students hurrying toward the stands. Surely he and Fred had never been so short.  
  
He looked for the usual parade of professors in their uniform black robes, and found himself grinning when he saw one with longish silver-streaked hair walking toward the pitch. George decided to take his usual spot in the upper level of the Gryffindor section, near the faculty box. No use calling attention to himself. The current seventh-years were the last ones to remember Fred's and his memorable exit from Hogwarts under Umbridge's brief rule, but even four years was enough to have gone by that their exploits had become the stuff of myth and legend. Now he was practically invisible, recognised only by the remaining seventh-years and some faculty members who had survived the War.  
  
He caught Lupin's eye only briefly, and saw the other man's gaze alight on his coat. He approved. George nodded almost imperceptibly then continued climbing the stairs to the last row.  
  
The game, while short, was superbly played. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were evenly matched, to a fault. The Gryffindors threw in some exotic manoeuvers, no doubt the influence of their current captain, but the Ravenclaw team flew and threw seamlessly, and George could only shake his head in admiration. They were absolutely flawless, obviously well practised. But Ginny managed to outshine their Seeker, and after a daring spin, was on the ground with the snitch in her hand. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff stands roared. Though he knew better, George was still disappointed when he didn't hear Lee Jordan's voice announce the victory. Some things would never change.  
  
He clomped down the stairs behind the students and ran out on the pitch to pick up Ginny and twirl her in a victory spin, an indignity she suffered only because it was him. She was practically his height now, but more slight.  
  
"Excellent moves, Gin!"  
  
"Thanks, George," she replied, her cheeks red from the cold. "Thanks for coming."  
  
"Wouldn't miss it. You're brilliant."  
  
She smiled, reached up her hand to pull at his cheek in a manner reminiscent of their Aunt Dromeda, then began unstrapping her vambraces. "You always say that."  
  
"And I always mean it. Go on; your public awaits you."  
  
George acknowledged a few greetings from her teammates as they made their way back to the castle.  
  
"See you!" she called.  
  
He made a theatrical bow in response, then walked toward two very familiar figures in official teaching robes.  
  
"George," Lupin said, looking pleased.  
  
"Weasley." The sneer in his voice was as prominent as it had ever been.  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
"You should come by before dinner," Draco continued on, as though George weren't there. "I know it's a little early, but I have been unexpectedly called away for the next few days. In fact, now would be best."  
  
"Care to accompany us to the dungeons?" Lupin asked, only glancing briefly toward George's front after Draco turned away from him.  
  
"Staying after the match?" Draco sounded intrigued. "Why would any Weasley find the need to spend time around Hogwarts professorial staff, especially our current History of Magic instructor?" He shook his head, tapping the front of his right shoulder with his wand. "History is boring. No offense, Lupin," Draco said hastily, keeping his gaze on George.  
  
"None taken."  
  
"But Potions under my tutelage is very different than it was in the past. Come on then." He smiled, and George was shocked as it appeared genuine. The last time he had paid any attention to Draco Malfoy, and granted, it was years ago, all he remembered was a smirk.  
  
"Draco graciously took over the making of my Wolfsbane potion after Severus was killed," Lupin explained as the trio walked back to Hogwarts.  
  
"When is the full moon?" George asked, his inner calendar much more in tune to the shopping seasons than anything else.  
  
"Two nights from now," Draco answered as they began up the front steps, his cape billowing behind him as threateningly as Snape's ever had. "I'm sure you remember the way," he said smugly, opening one of the large doors.  
  
"Who could forget?" George answered, feeling Lupin's hand quickly run down his back.  
  
"That's a beautiful coat, I forgot to mention," Draco drawled as they crossed the wide stone floor. "Slytherin green, of all colours. Dragonhide?"  
  
"Correct, of course," George replied. "You have an eye for detail, Malfoy."  
  
Draco spun on his heels. "I have an eye for beauty, Weasley," he said, then turned and strode down a corridor that led to the former Potions Master's laboratory and study area.  
  
"Is he always this chatty?" George whispered over his shoulder to Lupin, who seemed amused.  
  
"No." Lupin brushed an invisible speck from his robe, then adjusted his collar as they walked swiftly downstairs. "I think he fancies you."  
  
"You rotten perv," George hissed. "He doesn't. I had to clean his bathroom, once."  
  
"Weasley?" Draco's voice carried in the perfect acoustics of the enclosed stone. "Do you remember when you and Fred were sent to clean the prefect's bathroom?"  
  
Lupin choked on a laugh.  
  
"Only too well, Malfoy. Only too well."  
  
They were soon in Severus Snape's former classroom, which reeked of putrid organic… something. But there was an oddly familiar scent as well.  
  
"Oy! It smells like - " George began.  
  
"Lupine," Draco cut him off. "Unsurprisingly, Severus kept copious notes, otherwise my potion would not be as effective as it is. But the element of crushed lupine seed was my addition." He looked rather proud as he crossed the room, pulling a green vial and stopper from a high shelf. With a delicate, practiced motion, he placed a thin glass tube in a cauldron and sucked on it, drawing up a disturbing sanguine fluid. He covered the top with his finger, moved the glass over the vial, then moved his finger. The potion flowed into the container, then Draco placed the stopper securely before handing it to Lupin.  
  
"You'll let me know of any effects," Draco said, turning and making his way to an imposing mahogany desk covered in scrolls.  
  
"Yes. And thank you," Lupin said, raising the vial.  
  
"Cheers," Malfoy intoned without turning around. "Pleasure to see you too, Weasley." He sat down in a black leather high-backed chair, swinging his robes behind him as though he were a tow-headed raven. Bright grey eyes gazed piercingly at them. "You'll have visit again sometime."  
  
"Right," George said, nodding, then followed Lupin toward the door. I'll do that."  
  
A few strides later the two men stood outside the solid oak.  
  
"Wolfsbane?" George asked, glancing apprehensively at the golden liquid swirling in the glass.  
  
"Makes the transformations less… memorable." Lupin attempted a smile.  
  
"Ah." George didn't mind the serious turn to the conversation, but he was sure that he would prefer to discuss such topics - or any topics - back in Remus' private rooms. Wherever they were. "The glass is a lovely colour, though," he said, pressing Lupin against the stone and breathing into his ear. "Not as shiny as some other green items not visible to the naked eye, though," he went on, flicking his tongue against an earlobe haloed in silver-brown curls, feeling Lupin's hips rise to meet his.  
  
Just then the noise of a pack of Slytherins travelled toward them. "I think we should get to my room as quickly as possible," Lupin said hotly, "and without facing the suspicious eyes of the students in Draco's house."  
  
"There's a hidden passageway just behind that fountain," George exclaimed, then snapped his mouth shut, thunderstruck, having heard Lupin say the same words at the same time. "What did you say?"  
  
"There's a hidden passageway just behind that fountain," Lupin replied, evaluating George as they both walked quickly around the corner.  
  
George tapped the left eye of a winking serpent, water flowing out of its open mouth. " _Dissendium,_ " he said, and the snake shut its mouth, slithered into a semi-circle, and the outline of a low doorway appeared. George pushed it open and the two men ducked down to fit through, then hurriedly closed it again behind them. The corridor was pitch black, and cold. George felt a warm hand reach out and take him by the shoulder, pressing him against the rough stone. Lupin's hand slid down George's pants front, rubbing over his growing erection.  
  
A hot tongue traced his lips and George moaned, opening his mouth, reaching into the inky silence to grasp the back of Lupin's head. George thrust his tongue into that warm, inviting mouth, his cock hardening as desire coursed through him. Deprived of his visual senses, George was overwhelmed by all others; the slight tang of cinnamon on Lupin's tongue; the sound of their heavy breathing when they broke apart; the delicious friction as Lupin swayed his hips slowly but forcefully, grinding his thick bulge into George's.  
  
Lupin kissed him hungrily, their teeth clacking as his deft tongue swiped across George's, then Lupin bit his way down George's neck. "I'll lead," Lupin said after one last provocative hip thrust. "Not that I need to tell you where it goes. _Lumos,_ " he muttered, and suddenly George found himself blinking against the dim light.  
  
Lupin's robe was half undone from George's greedy fingers, his lips very satisfyingly and thoroughly kissed, George decided, looking at him.  
  
"You're a sight," George murmured, his heart racing.  
  
"You too, my fiery one," Lupin replied, running the lit wand down the side of George's neck. "Whoops. Too much teeth."  
  
He didn't look very sorry.  
  
"Your rooms," George repeated, adjusting the waist of his trousers, "before I end up spoiling the gift you sent before you even see them on me."  
  
Lupin made an appreciative grumbling sound in his throat. "I can't tell you how difficult it was to teach today. All I could think of was you, wanting to taste every freckle…" He ran a hand across the front of George's chest, making George's pulse race as Lupin flicked his finger over a hard nipple.  
  
"Rooms?" George said weakly, surrendering to the wall, sure he really would come right there, hidden just a few stone inches away from scores of current Slytherins. Maybe that wasn't so bad.  
  
"Indeed." With a last ravenous look, Lupin turned and began up the corridor. "How did you find out about this passageway?" he asked. "I know that you and Fred were legendary in your knowledge of Hogwarts."  
  
"Legendary enough to get Fred killed," George sighed. "But we didn't figure it out completely on our own. There are four extraordinary gentlemen that I wish I could thank for having made a brilliant map, one Fred and I used to as many devious purposes as we could, until we handed it off to Harry."  
  
"Mmmhmmm." Lupin's pace increased, and George wondered if he had somehow insulted the other man.  
  
"Ah. The portrait." Lupin pushed the oval painting outward, and stepped into the silent first-floor hallway. "My chamber is just down the way, near my classroom."  
  
George picked up the conversation, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that he was, in all likelihood, about to have sex for the first time in awhile. Too long, for certain. "The blokes who made the map called themselves Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs. Masters, they were. Owe them heaps."  
  
Lupin looked over at him, clasping the bottle of Wolfsbane to his chest. "I know a little something about them," he said, then stopped in front of a wooden door with a bronze plaque in the middle which read

_Remus J. Lupin  
Professor, History of Magic_

  
  
He raised his wand at the lock and said something in a language George didn't recognise before sliding his wand up his sleeve, then opened the door.  
  
The room was cozy, if a bit under-decorated, but George didn't take a lot of time to analyze the surroundings. Lupin had let George walk in then followed, shutting and locking the door behind them. George glanced around and saw shelves hopelessly crammed with books of all colours and widths, precarious stacks of even more texts that appeared to be on the verge of toppling over, and a wide wooden bed with an ornately carved headboard.  
  
"Welcome to the room of Remus J. Lupin," George heard, tilting his head to see Lupin carefully place the bottle of Wolfsbane in the middle of an otherwise scroll-littered desk. "Hopeful debaucher of exquisitely-formed men named George Weasley, and known by certain individuals in his school days as Moony due to his unfortunate condition."  
  
George let the words sink in as Lupin came around and stood in front of him, unzipping his coat and helping George out of it. Once divested of that layer, George watched Lupin spread his long fingers on George's chest, the older man rubbing his thumbs across both sensitive nipples. George's whole body throbbed under Lupin's searing gaze, but he felt he owed Remus at least one coherent sentence before his clothes were ripped off and he was ravaged by Lupin. He hoped.  
  
"So not only are you good company, handsome, an unbelievable kisser, and sexy as hell… "  
  
"Do, go on," Lupin purred, pulling George's tight navy shirt over his head. George couldn't stop the torrent of words, though his hands were busy unfastening Lupin's robe before clumsily unbuttoning the oxford underneath.  
  
"You made that map! You've been one of my heroes since my first year at Hogwarts. Y'know Fred and I spent ages in the library trying to see how old the chaps were who made it."  
  
"Hmmm. Terribly old. Ancient," Lupin murmured into George's ear as he pressed his chest against him, his soft layer of hair rubbing against George's more sparse red curls. "But I'm still going to fuck you, after you're so hard and wanting that you'll be begging for me, older man or no."  
  
"God. Fuck. Yes," was all George could say in response. "Want you. In me. Saying my name in that voice, like you're… Oh, shite. Sorry."  
  
Two things had happened at once to stop his babbling. First, George's stomach made a huge growling noise. At the same time, Lupin had gotten George to step out of his cords and there, on the front of the silk boxers, was a rather large wet spot.  
  
"Remus. Bollocks." George reflexively adjusted the elastic, which only added to his embarrassment as it allowed the head of his cock to pop into view.  
  
Remus made a decidedly pleased noise, his eyes raking over George, who stood in the middle of the room clad solely in the bit of silk.  
  
"You have no idea how gratifying it is to know that I have that effect on you," Lupin said, his voice husky. He offered his hand. "Now. Thank you for modeling for me, but I want you to come to bed."  
  
George didn't need to be invited twice. Away went the boxers. He pulled down the other man's underthings, then took his time making sure that Remus' cock and his mouth were very satisfyingly re-acquainted. The two were getting on splendidly, George feeling his own member twitch in empathy with Remus' noises of pleasure and occasional, "George. That's so good," until George felt a gentle pull on his hair. He looked up.  
  
"I don't want to come yet. Not until I'm holding you, so deep inside you, your cock in my hand…" Lupin went on in some detail as George practically flung himself up the bed. Remus's ability to talk dirty was surprising, and something George had never experienced prior to his other evening at Remus's house. It was an incredible turn-on, not that he needed it.  
  
"Turn around. You can put your hands on the headboard," Lupin commanded softly. George didn't mind, especially since after he gave the command, Remus took the opportunity to slide down and away from George, but only after taking his red-furred balls in his mouth, nuzzling them with his tongue.  
  
George had just formed the gasp to accompany such ministrations when Remus was gone. Rising to his knees, he grasped at the oak of the bed, and looked down at his cock. "Thank Merlin it doesn't have freckles too," he thought, idly shifting his weight so it dipped slightly from left to right, kind of like a Muggle artifact that his dad had been taken with for a good few weeks. _Metrophone? No, that wasn't it…_  
  
George instinctively spread his legs when he felt fingers caressing the sensitive skin behind his cock, a loving nip on his right cheek, and then -   
  
"Guhn," George sighed as he felt himself probed by Remus's perfect tongue. His sensitive entrance was flickered around, tentatively entered, then enthusiastically plundered.  
  
"Remus," he whined, wanting more. Needing more. "S'brilliant. But. You. Want you." He panted the words even as he heard Remus utter a soft spell and a small bottle flew behind him. There were a few moments of breathing while he heard Remus coat himself, then… "Fuck. Yes. Ow, hell! Merlin, it's been… don't you. Dare. Pull. Out."  
  
Just as Remus had threatened - or promised, it was all fuzzy in George's mind, which had shut down rather of its own accord - George was thickly and wrenchingly filled, Remus leaning over him and growling, biting, thrusting; showering words of adulation like rain on thirsty earth.  
  
"George. Love fucking you. So tight. So hot. Arse. Perfect. Should be illegal."  
  
Once Remus took his cock in his oiled hand, pumping in rhythm with his thrusts, George knew he wouldn't last for long. His cock pistoned against the strong fingers several times and then he felt it, the telltale tightening in his sacs, the heartstop second before falling.  
  
George surged over Remus, back arched forward, head down, mouth wide open as he desperately breathed, otherwise silent. He continued rocking into the slick hand, fluid coursing down Remus's fingers like a milky fountain. The waves of orgasm were still shuddering through him when Remus came, George distantly recognizing the sensation of liquid somewhere far inside him. Remus nudged George's prostate repeatedly as he made his last few thrusts, making George feel that his already overstimulated body would give out completely. He leaned against the top of the bed for purchase as his thighs shook.  
  
Remus kissed a trail of panted wet kisses up George's spine, his hand still holding George in a very messy embrace.  
  
"Remus?" George said faintly. "You're incredible. Gonna fall over now." He felt Remus pull gently out of him and release his softening, sticky cock.  
  
"You're a beautiful mess," Remus said into George's ear, then licked a wet path across his neck.  
  
George sat back somewhat gingerly, finally releasing the headboard and slumping on his side in a puddle of boneless limbs. Remus had padded over to retrieve his wand and cast a cleaning spell on himself, then turned and did the same to George and the bed.  
  
"Oh, thanks," George said as Remus returned to the bed and lay down next to him. "You didn't have to be quite so hasty, though." George ran his thumb down the middle of Remus's narrow chest. "I liked that smell. That bloody brilliant sex smell."  
  
Remus chuckled low in his throat. "I hadn't realized how much you're moved by scents, George. But Ill remember it next time."  
  
George nodded, pleased. "I like how that sounds. 'Next time.'"  
  
Remus ran his fingers down George's side, stopping to caress his hip, then playfully grabbed his arse.  
  
"Surely you didn't think that having had you once would be enough?"  
  
"Yeah," George joked. "You can never have enough Weasley arse around."  
  
"No. I'm pretty sure I can't."  
  
  
**Epilogue**  
  
George had just flushed the toilet and walked back into his bedroom when he glanced up at the portrait. Startled, he said, "Oh! Hi, Perce."  
  
Portrait-Percy was sitting in a chair amicably talking with portrait-Fred.  
  
"Don't mind us - and finish packing," Fred commanded.  
  
"Yes sir," George replied, tossing one of his mum's less-awful jumpers and a heavy wool cardigan into his trunk. There was a thudding sound from the living room, and George smiled. He went back to the bathroom to retrieve a few toiletries which he juggled for a moment before lobbing them on top of the clothes.  
  
"Shouldn't Lupin be here by now?" Fred asked from the wall.  
  
"Hasn't George gotten over that yet?" Percy asked, disapproval dripping in the question.  
  
"I certainly hope not," a resonant baritone voice said from the doorway.  
  
"Oh. Professor Lupin," Percy stammered. "Nice to see you. Better be off." He gave a last, slightly pained look, clapped Fred on the shoulder and walked out of the portrait.  
  
George got his wand, pointed it at the trunk, cast a shrinking spell on it, and shoved it into his jeans' pocket.  
  
"Where are you off to this time?" Fred asked. "Stonehenge?"  
  
"Been there, done that," George replied, grinning.  
  
"The Isle of Man," Lupin answered.  
  
"Well, mum's pleased that you're learning so much. She told Bill how she just knew you'd use that brain of yours, and spending time with a scholar is the perfect way to do so."  
  
Fred's imitation of Molly Weasley was uncanny.  
  
"She doesn't really know, does she?" George asked. "Not that I don't think she'll figure it out, but maybe she needs some time to adjust."  
  
"No. Too busy with wedding plans for Ginny and Neville to be overly concerned about one of her sons visiting big hunks of rock around the U.K."  
  
"Right! Well, guess I'll shove off." George said, nodding to Fred and following Lupin into the living room.  
  
They had been doing this when they could for months, and it was a pleasantly familiar routine, with a dash of lust that always made George slightly hard when he thought about their trips.  
  
"We'll Apparate, yes?" Lupin said, already pulling the redhead toward him. George leaned in under Lupin's leather coat, hands firmly on the other man's arse. "Is that a trunk in your pocket, or are you glad to see me?" Lupin breathed into George's ear.  
  
George pressed provocatively up into Lupin. "Both."  
  
They Apparated.  
  
When George looked around next, they were in a small clearing with several toppled monoliths. It was drizzling, and after planting a deep kiss on Lupin, George moved away from the othe man and pulled up his collar. Lupin used his wand to make a quick check of the area for lingering magic, making sure that there were no other wizards in the vicinity. Remus and George did tend to visit rather isolated locations, and not during the Muggle tourist season. It made things easier. Lupin's satisfied nod indicated there was no evidence that the stones had been recently visited by anybody, whether Wizard or Muggle.  
  
"Weather's miserable," George offered, drawing his wand from his sleeve.  
  
"Did I tell you that my paper proposal has been accepted by the journal for the ASWA, their 'From the Field' section?"  
  
"No!" George answered with enthusiasm. "Ruddy brilliant, Remus!"  
  
He strode back over to the older man, running his hand under the silver-streaked waves of hair to massage his neck. "Not to sound stupid, but who's the ASWA?"  
  
"The Anglo-Saxon Wizarding Association," Remus replied. "Preservation of spells and charms that only work in the original ancient languages."  
  
"Hmmm, " George replied. "You didn't mention, um, everything that we've done 'from the field,' have you?"  
  
"Most certainly," Remus said, bringing George's hand from his neck to draw two fingers into his mouth. He thoughtfully sucked on them, then ran his tongue down to the join between the calloused digits, then released George's hand into his own, intertwining their fingers. "You'll feature prominently in my endnotes. 'My eternal gratitude to George Weasley, intrepid traveller and intelligent shining company during dismal weather. A brilliant Wizard in his own right, he has helped me find an astounding number of stones still enchanted with the _Solaris_ spell, though I think his wand must have some special divining aspect as he keeps finding the spell-cast stones so readily.' "   
  
George rubbed his burgeoning erection into the cleft of Remus's backside during the other man's exchange.  
  
"Should we go then, oh scholarly one?" George breathed onto Remus's neck.  
  
"Yes - as you said, the weather's miserable. Good thing the company isn't." Remus kissed the back of George's hand and they split up.  
  
"Where are we again, exactly?" George asked.  
  
"Meayll Circle."  
  
George took out his wand and walked toward one of the outer stones which had fallen over centuries ago and looked rather pitiful. It was true - he did have an uncanny ability to find the charmed rocks.  
  
_"Symney grian,"_ he uttered in Manx, his wand pointed at the broken monolith, his right hand poised on the stone.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He moved away and found a slab still mostly upright, and sidled up to it after moving an overhang of damp fringe out of his eyes. His left hand pointed at the rock, his right hand inching around the uneven surface like a caterpillar exploring a leaf. _"Symney grian."_  
  
And there it was - heat pouring into him from lichen-covered, mossy rock. "Found one!" he cried triumphantly.  
  
Lupin made his way across the damp ground, waves from the nearby shore crashing noisily behind him.  
  
"I don't know how you've done it, but I _know_ you must've enchanted your wand," Lupin said, half-scowling.  
  
"Haven't!" George protested, then walked around Lupin so he could take the impossibly elegant fingers in his right hand, pressing the palm of Lupin's hand against the stone. George uttered the summoning spell again in Manx, and warmth flowed from the monolith into them. "But you see," he said hungrily, "I did find one." And then he quit talking.  
  
He leaned over to lick at Lupin's lips, asking without words for entry, which was heatedly granted. After a few moments they both removed their hands from the stone and broke the kiss, George looking expectantly at his lover. This had been their game, and George was a bit surprised at how often he was the winner. Whoever first found an enchanted standing-stone got to get a blow job, right then and there. They felt it was only appropriate as a way to honour the ancient ritualistic bent of the spell, and the fact that it was at one of such slabs when George had first realized that he was taken with Lupin. Shame that George seemed to have much more talent in finding the spell stones, at least for Remus.  
  
Remus shook his head, then cast a hasty drying spell on the wet ground at his feet and kneeled in front of George, pulling down his zipper and freeing George's already hard cock.  
  
"I think I'm rather suited to the academic life!" George said, sagging backward into the now-chill stone.  
  
Remus looked up at him, his tongue swirling around the pink head, mist settling on his prominent eyebrows. "You're a lucky bastard," he said, then encased George in wet heat so exquisitely contradictory to the weather.  
  
"Too right," George moaned, running his freckled fingers across the crown of Remus's head, absently listening to the ocean as it surged against the shore. "I get to be with you."


End file.
